This is fun, but I’m too high
and the edge of the golf course is coming up. If I don’t land now, I’ll soon be
over the rooftops of the city’s crowded neighborhoods. It would be
dangerous to drop down among them and try for a landing.
For the hundredth time,
I check the tightness of the old medical tubing that runs down from the balloon
and snakes into the cooker between my legs. I lean to the right and reach
down under my hip and let off a burp of helium by turning the dial from Simmer
to Roast. Whoa! I drop like a stone, and the wind whistles through the
old fishing net that suspends me from the ancient U.S. Government weather
balloon. I’m going to crash! I don’t know how far I plunge before
leveling off, but far enough to scare the crap out of me. Much lower now,
there are trees on one side of me and power lines on the other.
Thankfully, nothing is in my path and I’m maintaining altitude. But as I glide
past the edge of the golf course, I look ahead and realize I will hit the top
of a rapidly approaching house.
I come sliding in
across the roof, my feet touching down and dragging along the shingles. I
try to skid to a stop, but I’m moving too fast. Lunging desperately to
the left, I grab for the chimney. It’s out of reach, and then I’m
slipping off the far end of the roof, back into the air. I see the homes
below fall away as the street runs downhill and my height above the ground
increases.
My feet are treading
air, as if they’re hoping to find purchase on anything solid, like a drowning
man in water over his head. I feel nauseated, but I’m in one piece, heart
pounding in my ears. I don’t know how to get this thing on the
ground. It’s moving faster than I ever imagined, and now I’m too
scared to land. This is turning into a pretty dumb stunt! I could
be home reading my older brother’s copy of Playboy.
I look beyond the city
and past the river to the gentle green hills in the distance. They seem so far!
But if I make it over there, the other side of the valley will naturally rise
up to my altitude and rescue me in a safe embrace. A field of soft hay
would be a welcome landing spot. That would be the perfect ending to my
voyage. I could drop in on my cousins who live in that area. If I
master the art of flying in the next ten minutes, I might swoop down and land
majestically in their back yard, instead of crashing into a neighbor’s swimming
pool. Or I could just give up sooner, when I reach the river. Pull
the cork and hope to land in shallow water. I don’t swim very well, so
three feet would be just about the right depth.
However, I have an entire
city to cross before I land anywhere. Beneath me, hundreds of rooftops
drift under my toes in the afternoon silence, broken only by an occasional car
horn or a bus roaring up the hill. Along James St., a woman waiting for the bus near Zalatan’s Grocery
Store looks up at me and screams. I wave nonchalantly and force a
devil-may-care smile. No need for her to worry, I’ve been reading up on
aeronautics since I was twelve.
Damn! I think I’m
losing altitude again, but I’m still going too fast and there’s nowhere to
land. If I can get past South Street, the terrain will drop down rapidly toward the river,
a terrific glide path right into the water.
I sail toward the
downtown center of the city and feel the heat rise up to meet me. The wind
comes from a new direction, then another, as the tall buildings cause a
confusion of breezes. A moment ago, I was well away from the large gold painted
dome atop the city’s major bank, but now it’s coming my way. It’s hard to
tell whether I’m slightly above or below the flag on its pinnacle.
I’m certainly relieved
when a gust pushes me upward and away in another direction, because crashing on
a dome and not sliding off could be quite a challenge. Now I’m nudged
east toward the twin spires of St. John’s Church. They’re quite tall and definitely in my
way. Next to the church sits the high school, where I’ll begin the 9th
grade this fall, if I live.
I’m a really good
Catholic at times like this. I’m promising more rosaries than I could
ever say in a lifetime. If I survive, I’ll be on my knees until I’m
80. I might as well plan to become a monk and forget all those things I
wanted to do with girls when I found one who would let me.
A horn blares
persistently below me, but I keep my attention on the two steeples until
I’m elated to find myself pushed between them unscathed. Then, I peer
down at the scene below. It’s George in his family’s old Buick, driven by his
mother. I didn’t think she knew how to drive. She doesn’t seem to
be managing very well, and people are running in different directions as she
slowly steers the car down the street, sticking her head out the window and
peering up at me, occasionally driving up over the curb. I feel bad she
is so worried, worse to think what will happen when she catches up to me.
I’m moving north again,
and soon I cross over the river and the New York State Thruway. I had
thought about dropping into the water, but chickened out when I passed over it.
It looked deeper than I expected. I’ll wait for the grassy hill near my
cousin’s house. I suppose all of this might be worth the trip, since they
just bought the first color TV in their neighborhood. But if watching
Gunsmoke in color was the goal, I probably should have taken the bus.
The land begins to rise
slightly, and now I hear a hiss from the tubing. Helium is escaping from
the balloon and I’m losing altitude fast. I’ll soon be out of gas and
really out of luck. The winds are getting stronger and I see dark clouds
on the eastern horizon. I’m blown west along Riverside Drive for a short distance, then pushed up a side
street. I’m so low now I can hear kids yelling. A girl my age
looks up and waves. She seems completely unfazed by a boy sitting on an outdoor
grill flying over her house.
A ripping sound tells
me the fishing net has begun to part. The balloon shifts to the
left and the miniature airship starts a roll to the right. There’s
a field of corn below, and I spot my cousin’s house close by on Trenton Road. The gas is running out and the ground is now coming
up fast. The homemade dirigible George and I spent so much time
building … perhaps two hours … scrapes into the ground and with a fluttering
noise mows down a thousand cornstalks. The craft hits a bump and bounces high,
then suddenly drops, slamming the earth with a great thud. My teeth slam shut
so hard my entire jaw will hurt for days and I’m flipped off the cooker like a
flapjack, landing on my back in the corn. Without my weight, the
magnificent flying machine lifts up, struggles for air and soars onward.
I jump to my feet and run away, but the backyard grill seems unwilling to
call it quits. I’ll discover its final resting place when I read
tomorrow’s newspaper.
.My cousin is not at home,
but my aunt welcomes me at the back door.
“Did you walk all the
way from home?” she asks, incredulous.
“No, I flew.”
“Uh huh,” she says
without a flicker of doubt. “Well, how will you get back?”
“I think a friend and his
Mom are coming to pick me up,” I say. “But there’s no need to let them in.”
"You're green all down your back," she says with some concern in her voice.
"Rough landing," I say. "I'm new at this."
“Well,” she says, “come in and have a cookie while you wait. And do you hear sirens?”
“Yeah, I saw a flying saucer crash out back.”
She laughs, “You’ve got more stories!”
"You're green all down your back," she says with some concern in her voice.
"Rough landing," I say. "I'm new at this."
“Well,” she says, “come in and have a cookie while you wait. And do you hear sirens?”
“Yeah, I saw a flying saucer crash out back.”
She laughs, “You’ve got more stories!”
In the local newspaper
the next day:
The Utica Observer Dispatch
CONTRAPTION NOT
FROM SPACE!
------
Launched
By Persons
Unknown,
says Sheriff
Astonished Homeowner
was asleep in hammock
------
He Will Keep Grill
------
“Not
from Mars,” say local
firemen,“maybe
from Sears.”
Copyright 2008 by David
Griffin, and
dedicated to my Aunt Toot, who believed
everything I ever told her. So she said.
The Windswept Press
Murrells
Inlet, South Carolina
www.windsweptpress.com
